


I love you, bro

by grantairrible



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 14:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5130590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantairrible/pseuds/grantairrible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Feuilly slowly realises that he's in love with Bahorel, and the fact that Bahorel keeps walking around without a shirt really isn't helping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I love you, bro

**Author's Note:**

> I apologise for the unoriginal title but it's 12am and I want to publish this before I go to sleep so it will have to do.  
> This fic was inspired by Villefort's (is there a way to tag people? I really don't know how to use this website well) comment on You're Adoughrable calling Feuilly and Bahorel's relationship "full-homo bro". It's not set in the same universe but I wanted to explore the same kind of dynamic so here it is!! There's some exr in here too because it happened while I was writing and I just went with it.

Feuilly winced as he reached into his pocket to get his keys, swollen knuckles scraping against denim.  He managed to get the door open without too much trouble, although his fingers protested at the movement.

Bahorel was lounging on the couch when Feuilly entered their apartment, dressed only in tracksuit pants while playing video games. He swore at the TV as his player was shot, throwing down the controller.

“You made me lose my game.” Bahorel said, pouting, attention still on the screen while his points were tallied.

“Sorry about that.”

Bahorel looked up at Feuilly’s despondent tone, finally taking in the bruises that covered his friend’s face and body. “Shit, what happened to you?”

“What does it look like?” Feuilly asked. He turned to trudge into the bathroom and Bahorel scrambled off the couch to follow him.

“It looks like you got the shit beaten out of you.” Bahorel said, taking Feuilly’s arm. “Sit on the toilet, I’ll get you sorted out.”

Feuilly collapsed onto the closed toilet seat. “Thanks. It’s nice not to be the one cleaning you up after a fight for once.”

“I’ve never looked quite this bad. Well, maybe there were a few times when I looked worse, since nothing here seems to be broken.” Bahorel said, dabbing at the worst of the scrapes with disinfectant. Feuilly gasped at the sharp sting, and Bahorel grimaced in sympathy. “But seriously, what the hell happened?”

“Some guy tried to mug me, and I’d just got paid. I literally couldn’t afford to let someone take my money.”

Bahorel looked furious at that, and cleaned Feuilly’s wounds in silence, storming off to fetch an ice pack and a tea towel to wrap it in.

“Here.” Bahorel said, voice gruff. “Come on, let’s get you into bed so you can sleep the worst of it off.”

Bahorel half-carried Feuilly to his bedroom, disappearing once he’d settled Feuilly against the pillows, making sure Feuilly was holding the ice pack to his face. Feuilly didn’t know if Bahorel was angry at him or just the mugger, but it was unsettling to have his usually boisterous friend so quiet. Bahorel was back before he could dwell on it too much, placing a glass of water and a couple of packets of painkillers on the bedside table.

“Those should take the edge off a little.” Bahorel said, pausing as he turned to leave. “Are you going to be alright?”

Feuilly nodded, wincing when it worsened his headache. Bahorel was beside the bed in a rush, large but gentle fingers running through Feuilly’s hair.

“Shit, man, you’ve got to take care of yourself.” Bahorel said, and settled on the side of the bed next to Feuilly. “I don’t like being the one to patch you up.”

“Well, now you know how I feel whenever you get into fights.” Feuilly closed his eyes as he pressed closer to Bahorel’s hand.

“I’m sorry, I never wanted to worry you.”

Feuilly let a small, tired smile grace his features. “It’s fine. You’re always okay.”

“Yeah, and you’ll be okay too. Just…” Bahorel bit his lip, hand stilling on Feuilly’s hair until he let out a small noise of discontent, making Bahorel restart his movement. “Please don’t ever do that again. Your safety is worth so much more than money ever will be.”

“That’s easy for you to say, you’ve always had it.” Money had always been a sore spot in their relationship. Feuilly was too proud to accept money from his friends most of the time, and Bahorel wanted to help Feuilly out so he didn’t have to work as many hours.

“Feuilly.” Bahorel said, nudging Feuilly’s side, drawing back immediately when he winced. “I know you don’t want us to give you money, which is totally cool. But if it’s a situation where you’re going to be physically harmed, please let us help you out. If nothing else, Enjolras would love to redistribute his parents’ wealth, especially for you.”

Feuilly nodded. It was a small nod, and Feuilly didn’t look at Bahorel while he did it, but it was definitely there.

“You’re important to us all. Don’t forget that.” Bahorel said, usual bravado gone.

Feuilly suddenly felt small, tucked into his cocoon of blankets, Bahorel’s hand resting on his head. Something must have shown in his eyes, because Bahorel twisted so he was reclining on the bed next to Feuilly. “It’s scary, right? Loving them all, I mean. Why do you think I act like an asshole so much of the time?”

Feuilly grinned. “Because you are one.”

Bahorel gave him an easy out, acting offended and letting go of the moment. Feuilly knew that Bahorel was just happy to see him safe, and wouldn’t push the issue. If Feuilly wanted to talk about it, he would have. When he reached up to shove Bahorel’s hand from his hair, he let their fingers stay entwined on the bed between them, and refused to wonder what was causing the little flicker of warmth in his chest.

 

* * *

 

 

“You need to learn how to defend yourself.”

Feuilly looked up from his laptop. “Ugh.”

“I’m serious, man.” Bahorel said, settling on the couch next to him. “You’re all healed up now and I know you’ve got the afternoon off, so Grantaire’s coming over and we’re going to teach you some moves.”

“Fine.” Feuilly said. It wasn’t as if he was weak – he’d had enough experience with manual labour. He just generally wasn’t a fan of exercise for the sake of exercise. “But you’re making tacos for dinner.”

“Dude, your tacos are way better than mine.”

Feuilly shot him a glare. “I will teach you how to make perfect tacos and then you will make tacos for me.”

 

Three hours later Feuilly threw himself on the couch, not caring if his sweaty shirt stuck to it. Bahorel flopped down next to him, tugging his hair out of its bun, leaning back so he could headbutt Feuilly.

“Do my hair, bro?”

“Not when it’s all sweaty and gross.” Feuilly said, grimacing. “Go take a shower.”

Bahorel stood and stripped his shirt off – and Feuilly definitely did not pause to appreciate his rather magnificent abs – before throwing it straight in Feuilly’s face.

“What the fuck?” Feuilly screeched, while Grantaire snickered from where he was getting a glass of water in the kitchen. “That’s disgusting.”

“It’s my natural musk.”

Grantaire almost spat out his mouthful of water. “Please never use the word ‘musk’ in reference to your body odour ever again.”

Bahorel considered. “Delicious… man scent? Don’t ever get me to sell men’s deodorant, okay? I would suck. Shit, what’s meant to be manly? Flowers smell so much better than like… metal, or whatever’s meant to be in body spray.”

“Go take a shower before you hurt yourself.” Feuilly said, shaking his head. “And put your nasty shirt in the wash.”

Bahorel serenaded Grantaire and Feuilly with his rendition of ‘Primadonna’ from the shower while they sat on the couch, discussing flyer designs.

 “Shut the fuck up, you can’t sing!” Feuilly called out, after a particularly painful note.

“Fuck you, it’s my shower song.” Bahorel responded over the sound of the water running, launching back into pitchily asserting that he wanted to be adored.

“Fucking Courfeyrac.” Feuilly muttered to Grantaire. “He’s the one who got Bahorel into Marina.”

Grantaire burst out laughing. “You two bust so many stereotypes.”

Feuilly admired the chips of sparkly blue nail polish that adorned his fingers, courtesy of Cosette. “We try.”

They had just turned back to the flyer designs when there was a knock on the door.

“Shit, I totally forgot Enjolras was coming over.” Feuilly said, gathering up the piles of paper.

Grantaire looked up, then back down at his sweaty singlet, white fabric turned transparent and clinging to his body. “Enjolras?” His voice had climbed approximately three octaves.

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “Yes, Enjolras. Don’t worry, he won’t be here long.” He went to answer the door while Grantaire stayed on the couch, frozen. By the time he returned with Enjolras in tow, Grantaire had somehow stirred himself and brought out his asshole demeanour.

“Hey, Apollo.”

Enjolras, rummaging in his bag, didn’t look up. “I told you not to call me...” He trailed off as he glanced at Grantaire and the blood drained from his face. Enjolras’ lips shaped the word _Apollo_ silently.

“Are you okay, Enjolras?” Feuilly asked, taking Enjolras’ arm and leading him to the couch. “I’ll just get those flyer sketches for you. Grantaire was helping me out with them, actually.”

Enjolras’ eyes were still fixed on Grantaire. “Oh.”

Feuilly waved a hand in front of Enjolras’ face. “Seriously, are you okay?”

Enjolras nodded, eyes wide. “Fine.” He choked out.

“Alright then.” Feuilly said dubiously. “There’s a few on the coffee table there, and I’ll just grab the rest from my room.”

Bahorel emerged from the bathroom in only a towel as Feuilly walked past. He smelt like the rose shower gel he liked to use, and Feuilly did have to admit it was a much more pleasant scent than most of the products marketed at men. But he couldn’t just stand here and marvel at Bahorel’s muscular form and try and drown in his scent and-

Where had that come from?

“Get dressed!” Feuilly hissed. “We have company.”

Bahorel leered at him. “You just want me to cover all this up because you find it too hot.”

“Yes, of course. How silly of me.” Feuilly said dryly, ignoring his pounding heart. “Honestly, Bahorel. Put on some clothes and help out Grantaire before Enjolras faints.”

Feuilly traded his sweaty shirt for a clean one and grabbed a spare for Grantaire in one hand, flyers in the other.

“Got you a shirt, since that one’s all sweaty.” Feuilly said when he re-entered the living room, throwing it at Grantaire.

“Cheers.” Grantaire responded, peeling off his shirt and chucking it on top of his bag. Enjolras let out a high pitched noise, turning away quickly to focus on the flyers when Grantaire looked up, clean shirt in hand.

“Gonna put that on, mate?” Bahorel asked, “Not all of us have your physique.”

Feuilly snorted. “Like you can talk.”

Enjolras was steadfastly refusing to look at anyone, gaze straight on the piece of paper in his lap.

“Sorry that my figure displeases you so.” Grantaire said to Enjolras, tugging on the shirt. “I mean, I know I’ve got a bit of a belly but that’s just how my body is. It’s not like I don’t exercise.”

Feuilly grinned and nudged Enjolras. “You should see him dance. I’ve got a video somewhere.”

Grantaire pulled a face. “He doesn’t want to see that.”

“I do, actually.” Enjolras said quietly, eyes still facing down.

Grantaire gaped openly at him while Feuilly pulled up a video of one of Grantaire’s ballet routines on his phone.

“Oh, the uh-“ Enjolras swallowed as he watched Grantaire’s elegant movements. “Tights.”

Enjolras was silent for the rest of the video, Bahorel barely holding in his laughter whenever Enjolras’ breath hitched.

“What did you think?” Grantaire asked, shoulders hunched as he looked up at Enjolras.

“You’re amazing.” Enjolras blurted out. As if just realising what he’d said, he went bright red and refused to meet Grantaire’s gaze, and rushed out of the apartment before anyone could say anything.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Bahorel said, sliding into the space on the couch next to Grantaire, clapping him on the shoulder. “You going after him?”

Grantaire, still processing, looked up at Bahorel and blinked. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Then he was gone, leaving Bahorel and Feuilly alone in the apartment, barely able to breathe through their laughter.

“Will you braid my hair now?” Bahorel asked, fluttering his lashes at Feuilly once they had both caught their breath.

Feuilly combed his fingers through Bahorel’s slightly damp hair. “I should probably take a shower, I’m sure I smell too.”

“You always smell nice.” Bahorel said, leaning back into Feuilly’s touch. “Like, there’s your shampoo and soap and stuff, which smell nice. But then there’s your Feuilly smell, and that smells really good too.”

Feuilly ignored the small, pleased smile that tugged at his lips. “You’re talking shit.”

“Nah, son.” Bahorel said, eyes dropping closed as Feuilly started weaving strands of his hair together.

 

* * *

 

A couple of days later Grantaire turned up at the apartment, Feuilly’s shirt washed and neatly folded.

“Thanks, man.” Grantaire said, handing over the shirt.

Feuilly smirked. “Did we help?”

Grantaire went bright red and nodded. “He kissed me. I mean, he ran away straight after, but he kissed me. We’re meeting for lunch this afternoon. That can only be a good thing, right?”

Feuilly pulled Grantaire into a hug. “Tell me how it goes, yeah? We’ll have a movie night tonight, either to celebrate, or as consolation. Not that I think it’ll go terribly, but Enjolras can be really bad with emotions, especially his own.”

“Did someone say movie night?” Bahorel asked, ducking his head into the room.

Feuilly swivelled his head around to face him, and immediately rolled his eyes. “Are you allergic to shirts, or something?”

Bahorel flexed his muscles in response, and Feuilly’s mouth went dry. “I just don’t want to cover up this beauty.”

“Bahorel, it’s fucking freezing today.” Grantaire said, extricating himself from Feuilly’s grip, which had suddenly tightened. “I’m cold just looking at you. Put some bloody clothes on.”

Bahorel huffed but went back into his room, emerging moments later clad in a fluorescent argyle-patterned jumper.

“Jehan?” Feuilly asked.

“Jehan.” Bahorel replied, nodding solemnly. “Now, party planning?”

“I’ve actually got to dash so I can meet Enjolras.” Grantaire said, breaking into a small, bashful smile. “But you guys have fun. I’ll see you tonight, I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

Enjolras and Grantaire arrived at the apartment separately, and spent the night determinedly not looking at each other, sitting on opposite ends of the couch. Feuilly was initially worried about Grantaire, and was about to pull him aside when he noticed Enjolras biting his lip, gaze flickering over to Grantaire when he thought nobody was looking.

Feuilly nudged Bahorel, who was sitting next to him, and gestured to where Enjolras was sitting. Bahorel leered at him and sent a filthy wink in response. Feuilly totally didn’t feel a little turned on at that. Bahorel just had really long eyelashes, and really pretty eyes and-

Feuilly whined and buried his face in the nearest surface, which unfortunately happened to be Bahorel’s chest. Feuilly lost track of everything when Bahorel’s fingers started running through his hair, and shifted so he was half-sitting, half-lying across Bahorel. Grantaire made a grumbling noise as Feuilly’s legs sprawled across his lap.

“Go and sit over on the other side of the couch, then.” Feuilly said sleepily, sliding a cold foot up under Grantaire’s top.

“Fucking hell, Feuilly.” Grantaire yelped and jumped off the couch, sending Feuilly sprawling further into Bahorel’s lap. “Your feet are _freezing._ ”

Enjolras looked up hopefully as Grantaire walked past to snuggle in a pile of cushions with Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta.

Bahorel reached across and patted Enjolras’ head in consolation, met with a small growling noise. Courfeyrac, lounging at Enjolras’ feet with Combeferre’s head pillowed in his lap, sniggered at Enjolras’ displeased face and was hushed by his boyfriend.

Despite the looks being exchanged, the entire group was conspicuously silent, and Enjolras was certain not to acknowledge the attention he was being given, gaze fixed on the TV.

When they all realised Enjolras wasn’t going to rise to the bait, they all returned their attention to the movie, and Feuilly found himself faced with the sudden realisation that Bahorel was surprisingly comfortable, despite his muscle. It was nice with Bahorel’s strong arms wrapped around him, surrounded by the smell of roses, while some inane but harmless comedy played out on the TV. Bahorel’s fingers found their way back into Feuilly’s hair, and Feuilly tried to stop a contented noise escaping him. He wasn’t a cat; he didn’t need to purr when someone stroked his head. He did feel a little like a cat, though, warm and comfortable and lazily sprawled out. Face pressed against Bahorel’s chest, Feuilly let his breathing slow, and within minutes he could feel himself drifting off.

 

* * *

 

 

Feuilly woke to find himself cradled in someone’s arms, bumping against their chest as they carried him down the hallway.

“I can walk, ‘Rel.” Feuilly mumbled, but didn’t move to get out of Bahorel’s grip.

Bahorel shrugged, lifting and dropping Feuilly slightly in the movement, eliciting a somewhat sleepy giggle. “Okay man, you really need to catch some ‘Z’s.”

Feuilly hummed in response, tipping his head so it was resting against Bahorel’s chest again. “You smell nice.”

“Damn straight I do.”

Feuilly reached a hand up to try and pat Bahorel on the head, but could only reach his cheek. “No hetero.”

“You really need to sleep, bud. I don’t think you’re quite awake now.” Bahorel said, and nudged Feuilly’s door open. He almost tripped over Feuilly’s backpack but didn’t loosen his grip for a second, and Feuilly didn’t even flinch, secure as he was in Bahorel’s arms.

“Stay.” Feuilly breathed, once Bahorel set him on the bed.

“Feuilly…”

Feuilly opened his eyes fully and grabbed Bahorel’s singlet, tugging him closer. “Stay. Please. I know you will have given up your bed for someone else, stay here so you don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t mind sleeping on the floor.” Bahorel said, but allowed himself to be tugged onto the bed behind Feuilly, curling around him so they could both fit. “I don’t think there’s enough space for me here.”

“Quiet.” Feuilly said, pressing closer to Bahorel. “I’m trying to sleep.”

Feuilly felt a huff of warm breath on the back of his neck. A heavy arm was thrown over him, and Feuilly drifted off feeling, more than anything, _safe_.

 

* * *

 

Feuilly was making coffee the next morning, Bahorel still sprawled out in his bed, when a loud shriek from the living room almost made him spill boiling water all over himself. He dashed out, only to find Enjolras and Grantaire standing next to each other, both bright red and looking very put out. Courfeyrac lay on the floor, clutching his stomach as he laughed.

“Do I want to know?” Feuilly asked.

Joly shook his head and turned back to his bag to rummage for his anxiety meds. “There’s not much to know.”

“Oh, but there is.” Courfeyrac gasped, using Combeferre’s leg to lever himself into a standing position. “These two were _snuggling._ ”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “Shock horror. Honestly, Courf.”

“You’re ruining all my fun.” Courfeyrac said, pouting.

“Well, I think you ruined _their_ fun.” Feuilly replied, and went back to the tiny kitchen to make coffee. He hated to think what Courfeyrac would have said if he’d seen him and Bahorel pressed together in the too-small bed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them all to know if there was something between him and Bahorel, it was just that he didn’t know if there actually _was_ anything. He didn’t want everyone to comment on something, only for it to make Bahorel uncomfortable, and pull away. And speaking of Bahorel…

“Fucking hell, how many times do I have to ask you to put a shirt on?”

Bahorel looked up from where he was pouring out the various mugs of coffee and tea each of them liked to have in the morning, grinning unashamedly. “It would be a crime to cover this up.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Feuilly said, wriggling his socked feet. “As is your body temperature. I felt like I was sleeping next to a furnace.”

Bahorel reached out an arm and bundled Feuilly into a hug. “And you were completely freezing. I don’t know how you can sleep like that, you’re always bloody cold. Especially your feet.”

Feuilly shrugged, and rubbed at the chilblains on his fingers. “I’ve got bad circulation.”

“Shit, man. Look at those.” Bahorel took Feuilly’s hands between his. “I’m getting you some gloves. You need to be able to use your hands for work.”

“They’re perfectly warm right now, you don’t have to hold them.” Feuilly said, and Bahorel immediately let go. Feuilly mourned the warmth, wondering why on earth he’d had to say that. “But I’ll take you with me everywhere. You can be my personal heater.”

“And arm candy.”

Feuilly just shrugged out of Bahorel’s embrace in response. He gathered up a tray of drinks for something to do with his hands, stalling for time as he tried to think of something that wasn’t going to be really embarrassing. “You wish.” _Keeping it smooth and witty there, idiot_ , Feuilly thought.

“I’m totally hot, bro, you just don’t want to admit it.” Bahorel responded, taking the second tray. “I know what I’m talking about.”

“You’re not completely unfortunate looking.” Feuilly allowed, and the conversation was effectively ended as they entered the living room and began distributing mugs.

 

* * *

 

 

Feuilly had managed to get the whole weekend off, and while it meant he was missing out on the better pay rates, it was the first weekend he’d had free in ages. He’d meant to go out, maybe to a gallery or a museum, but everyone had left after helping tidying up, claiming to have plans for the afternoon. Which left Feuilly with Bahorel, who was currently drowsing on the couch, head in Feuilly’s lap. Bahorel had, once again, whined at Feuilly to have his hair braided, and Feuilly didn’t often have it in him to refuse Bahorel. Especially when it ended like this.

Bahorel was a huge man, tall and muscular, and he often got into fights. As he was now, though, he seemed infinitely gentle, and Feuilly knew he only got into fights when someone couldn’t be reasoned with, or had thrown the first punch.

Feuilly smiled, and sectioned off Bahorel’s hair. Bahorel was always so caring, and liked to protect everyone he could, even if they didn’t need it. Eponine was the most notable example, and everyone had winced when she’d shattered that gross dude’s nose after he tried to grope her.

Feuilly wasn’t sure how Bahorel managed to be so gentle and kind, and yet have no issue with violence. He supposed it wasn’t that Bahorel enjoyed violence, just that it was sometimes the most direct answer.

Feuilly hadn’t realised his hands had stopped their movements, and had somehow ended up with one cupping the back of Bahorel’s head, the other on the defined line of his jaw. An eye opened, hazel against the golden-brown of Bahorel’s skin, and stared up at Feuilly as if to say _well get on with it_ , before closing again. Feuilly forced himself not to fix his gaze on the slight flutter of Bahorel’s eyelashes.

“Do I need to ask again?” Bahorel mumbled against Feuilly’s leg, voice hazy from sleep.

Feuilly smiled, and began to braid Bahorel’s hair. “Of course not.”

There were so many things Feuilly could be doing right now, things that some would deem more important or more interesting. There was a new exhibit at the museum, and there was a small pile of unread books beside Feuilly’s bed, and there was always work to be done around the house. Looking down at Bahorel, contented and sleepy in Feuilly’s lap, Feuilly decided there was nothing that was more deserving of his time.

 

* * *

 

 

“Tell me you didn’t.”

Bahorel looked at Feuilly, then down at the small dog currently huddled in his arms, and then back up at Feuilly, a pleading expression on his face. “Please?”

Feuilly sighed. This was a battle he was never going to win. For one, he couldn’t deny Bahorel anything that made him happy – and he was grinning giddily as the little dog licked his face – and, for another, the dog was bloody adorable. “Fine. We can keep it.”

Bahorel rushed over and pulled Feuilly into a hug, the dog between them. Feuilly could feel its tiny body shaking, and took in Bahorel’s soaked form.

“Let’s get you two warmed up, and then we can sort out the logistics.” Feuilly said, and tugged both Bahorel and the dog over to the bathroom.

Feuilly ended up washing the dog in the sink while Bahorel showered. He had stripped down, unashamed, while Feuilly turned his back and determinedly kept his eyes on the dog. It – she, as Feuilly found out – was still a puppy, able to fit easily into the sink. She was one of those French Bulldogs that were around in all the trendy cafes with their exercise gear-clad owners. No doubt someone had bought her because it was fashionable, and then turfed her out once they realised that keeping a dog actually takes work, and that a well-behaved puppy needs training.

Feuilly gave Bahorel the Responsibility Talk while Bahorel showered – “You found her so you take care of her, heaven knows I don’t have the time to care for a dog.” – and a very happy and clean dog and owner were soon snuggled up on the couch.

Bahorel worked out a schedule so he could take the puppy for a walk each day between classes and work, then spent the rest of the evening googling pet names while Feuilly did the week’s work for his online course. The dog stretched out between Bahorel and the laptop, forcing him into an awkward position so he could type without resting too much weight on her, and Feuilly hid a grin at the sight of them together. In the morning, Bahorel was going to make an appointment with the vet and register her with the local council and check if she was desexed, as well as buying all the necessary supplies for a puppy. For now, they were happily snuggled up together, the puppy fighting a losing battle against her drooping eyelids.

Feuilly just hoped the dog didn’t pee on the carpet too often. If she did, Bahorel was going to be the one to clean it up. Not that he thought the dog could make _too much_ of a mess. The size of her bladder would prevent it, if nothing else.

“Feuilly, seriously.”

Feuilly looked up from his computer. “Mm?”

“Come over here, that stuff isn’t due for days.” Bahorel said. He patted a spot on the couch next to him, and Feuilly felt his resolve crumbling. He was already ahead on the work. Taking the rest of the night off couldn’t hurt too much.

“Fine.” Feuilly said. “But this is all your fault. You’re a terrible influence.”

Bahorel just held and arm out and tucked Feuilly against his side. Bahorel asked about names intermittently, and Feuilly gave the dog a scratch behind her ears every time she looked up.

 

* * *

 

 

Feuilly surfaced the next morning to find Jehan wandering through the apartment, a stack of dog toys in their arms, which they promptly dropped onto the couch.

“Good morning, darling.” Jehan said airily, drifting across the room to pull Feuilly into a hug.

Feuilly, brain still waking up, let himself be enfolded in their arms, surrounded by some distinctly floral scent. Jehan might have had the strangest dress sense – and today they were clad in some bizarrely patterned floaty sundress under a chunky knitted jumper, as well as a pair of bedazzled combat boots – but they always smelled wonderful.

“I’ll get you some breakfast, shall I?” Jehan offered, and Feuilly was quick to rush after them and assure them that it really wasn’t necessary. Jehan’s culinary exploits could be as strange as their clothes, and Feuilly had no desire for blueberry compote with his scrambled eggs ever again.

Jehan drank green tea while Feuilly pottered around the kitchen, and made themselves another mug when Feuilly dressed and had to leave for work.

“Have a good day!” Jehan called, before running over and giving Feuilly a kiss on the cheek.

Feuilly hid his small, pleased smile. “You’ll wake Bahorel up, yelling like that.”

Jehan laughed. “That’s the plan,” they said, and lowered their voice, “I want to see the puppy.”

Then Feuilly really had to go or he was going to be late, and left shaking his head fondly after Jehan sent him a conspiratorial wink.

 

* * *

 

 

Feuilly walked out of work, exhausted from spending all day on his feet, only to find Bahorel waiting for him, holding the puppy despite the leash attached to her new spiked pink collar.

“Fancy seeing you here.” Bahorel said. He was drawing glances from the pedestrians around them, what with his stature and the way it contrasted with his outfit – a denim jacket which had been embroidered with daisies, worn over a skirt that hinted at the muscular lines of his thighs. The jacket was Bahorel’s favourite, and it made Feuilly far too happy whenever Bahorel wore it, what with Feuilly having spent hours and hours embroidering the flowers on it.

“Ruined my day, seeing your ugly mug.” Feuilly said, nudging Bahorel with his shoulder. “Why’s the dog with you?”

“Her name is _Lola_ , thank you very much.” Bahorel sniffed. “But I was taking her for a walk.”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, looks like she’s doing loads of walking.”

Bahorel looked at Feuilly over his sunglasses, and gently placed Lola on the ground. “Watch.”

Bahorel started walking, and Lola followed for a couple of steps before stopping, even when Bahorel tugged gently on the lead.

Feuilly laughed. “Congratulations, you’ve managed to find a dog as stubborn as you.”

Bahorel picked up Lola and placed a kiss to the top of her head. “She’s just a puppy. We’ll get her trained up.”

“ _We_ will, shall we?”

Bahorel wrapped an arm around Feuilly and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “We. You know you can’t resist this adorable face.”

“I hope you mean hers.” Feuilly said dryly, but didn’t move away from Bahorel.

So they walked home like that, tiny dog tucked under one of Bahorel’s arm, Feuilly under the other.

 

* * *

 

 

Over the course of the next week, all of Les Amis visited Bahorel and Feuilly’s apartment. Some of them were more blatant about wanting to see the dog – Courfeyrac had sprinted across the room and squealed, dragging an amused Combeferre behind him – while others had kept up a pretence of visiting Bahorel and Feuilly. Most ridiculous had been Enjolras and Grantaire. Enjolras had gravely picked up the puppy and stared at her, before the edges of his lips quirked up and he looked over at Grantaire.

“Puppies are very important.” Enjolras said, alternating between smiling at Grantaire and down at the tiny dog.

Grantaire had grinned helplessly. “What happened to justice and liberty?”

Enjolras turned Lola to look at Grantaire so he was faced by two sets of puppy eyes. “She’s a _rescue_ puppy.”

“I’m a cat person.” Grantaire protested weakly.

Bahorel was unable to hold in a laugh. “Since when are you two moving in together?”

Enjolras and Grantaire spluttered, eventually turning their attention to the dog and pretending they hadn’t heard Bahorel.

 

* * *

 

 

 Later that week, Feuilly woke up feeling terrible, but made the effort to go into work anyway. He got through about half of his shift before his manager told him to go home.

“But-“

The manager shook her head. “No arguing. You’re my best worker, go home and rest up so you get better soon. Take the next couple of days off, and I expect you to take it easy.”

“Thanks.” Feuilly said, too tired to do anything but acquiesce.

Even though it was only a half hour walk home, Feuilly took the bus, his head pounding too much to manage the walk. He rested his throbbing head against the cool window, and the short trip seemed to drag out endlessly. Finally, the bus reached his stop, and it was just a short walk to the apartment.

Feuilly opened the door quietly, planning to get changed into his pyjamas and put a movie on. Bahorel’s bag was on the table, which meant he was home, for which Feuilly was grateful. Bahorel was bound to fuss over him, and maybe they would curl up together on the couch and Feuilly would fall asleep on him again.

Lola was scratching at Bahorel’s door when Feuilly went past, and Feuilly let her in, ducking his head around the doorway to let Bahorel know he was there.

“Hey, I-“ Feuilly reeled back instantly at the sight of Bahorel spread out on his bed naked, one hand lazily stroking his cock, which was in proportion to the rest of him. That was to say, _huge._

Bahorel started as soon as he saw Feuilly, grabbing the sheets and pulling them up over himself. “Feuilly! Fuck, sorry, I didn’t think you’d be home for ages.”

Feuilly blinked, dazed. “I wasn’t meant to be. I felt sick, so I came home. Um. Sorry. I’ll just…” He scooped up Lola and turned away, shutting the door behind him.

Feuilly changed into his pyjamas, unable to think of anything but the sight of Bahorel jerking off. By the time he finally felt calm enough to venture out and face Bahorel again – ignoring the fact that he was half-hard, and hoping that his baggy pants would hide it well enough – Bahorel had made tea and was dressed, for once wearing a shirt unprompted.

“Hey.” Bahorel said, holding up a mug for Feuilly, smiling when Feuilly dropped onto the couch next to him and took the mug gratefully. “Again, sorry you had to see that.”

Feuilly shrugged. “It’s not like I haven’t seen worse before.”

Bahorel laughed, self-conscious. “Still. It’s awkward.”

“Not if you don’t want it to be.” Feuilly said. “I feel too crappy for this to be a source of tension between us.”

“Great. Resolved.” Bahorel said, “I’ll get some lunch on, you pick out a movie.”

Feuilly smiled in thanks, before looking down at his tea in sudden realisation. “Please tell me you washed your hands before you made this.”

Bahorel only laughed in response.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re the best.” Feuilly sighed as he was handed a steaming bowl of soup, Bahorel setting a plate piled with crusty bread on the coffee table.

“I know.” Bahorel said, with a grin. “What are we watching?”

“10 Things I Hate About You.” Feuilly said. “But I’m warning you, I’ll probably fall asleep halfway through.”

Bahorel shrugged. “What are these guns good for, if not to carry you to bed?”

“Shut up.” Feuilly said, not without fondness. “And I swear to god, if you say anything about Netflix and chill…”

Bahorel threw his hands up. “We’re watching Netflix, and we’re chilling. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut up.” Feuilly repeated, as Bahorel snuggled up to him. “Nerd.”

“Bro.” Bahorel said. “You wound me.”

 

Bahorel carried Feuilly to bed again – Feuilly may or may not have been feigning sleep – and once again, Feuilly tangled a hand in Bahorel’s top.

“Stay.” Feuilly said. “Please.”

Bahorel looked down at him, helpless. “Your bed’s too small.”

Feuilly nodded to himself, and turned away from Bahorel, pulling the covers up to his chin to hide his hurt. “Okay.”

“Feuilly.” Bahorel said, his voice gentle. His voice was always gentle around Feuilly; _he_ was always gentle around Feuilly. “Are you ignoring the fact that I have a really fucking huge bed in my room?

Feuilly sat up, head spinning, and leant against Bahorel. “You want-?”

Bahorel pressed a soft kiss to Feuilly’s temple, and bundled him into his lap, stroking Feuilly’s hair. “I will always want you.”

“I want to kiss you,” Feuilly said, “But I don’t want to get you sick.”

“It can wait.” Bahorel said, and scooped him up again. “I’ve probably already been infected, but it can still wait. Now is a time for sleep. And tomorrow is for rest. For you, at least. We can talk when you’re better.”

“But it’s not a bad thing?” Feuilly asked, as he was placed on the vast mattress with infinite care.

Bahorel stripped off his shirt, and Feuilly eyed him over. Feuilly hoped he was allowed to look now.

“Have you been paying attention to any of this conversation?” Bahorel asked, smiling, and joined Feuilly on the bed. “I can tell you all about how long I’ve been in love with you if you want, but you look exhausted.”

“Just hearing you say that is enough.” Feuilly said, voice soft. Then Bahorel’s arms wrapped around him, holding him to that furnace-like heat, and Feuilly was asleep within moments.

 

* * *

 

 

Feuilly woke to find that Lola had squeezed in between him and Bahorel in the middle of the night, and was currently snoring, as was Bahorel.

He considered getting up, but it was too comfortable, and he instead snuggled closer to Bahorel. Lola stirred and opened an eye, gazing Feuilly for a long moment before it flickered shut again and she stretched out, kicking Feuilly in the stomach.

Feuilly couldn’t bring himself to move her, let alone kick her off the bed, despite the fact that he wanted to be the one curled up against Bahorel.

“Stupid dog.” Feuilly muttered, but contented himself with tangling his legs with Bahorel’s, and drifted off to sleep again.

 

* * *

 

 

The next time Feuilly woke, it was late morning, the sun streaming in bright around the edges of the blinds, and both Bahorel and Lola had left the bed. He stretched out, face buried in the pillows that smelled like Bahorel, and breathed a sigh. His head still hurt like hell, but he had the next couple of days to recover and talk with Bahorel, and it was all going to be okay.

Feuilly grinned into the pillow, remembering the half-asleep confessions of yesterday, and was interrupted by the sound of the door being opened. He rolled over, certain that his hair was a mess and his face had a sickly pallor to it, which never looked good with his olive-toned skin, but Bahorel was unabashedly staring at him, standing in the doorway with a tray of breakfast.

“Tell me,” Feuilly said, propping himself up on the pillows as Bahorel placed a tray on the bed and joined him, “Was the shirtless thing a seduction attempt?”

Bahorel grinned. “A very blatant one.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Feuilly said fondly. “I don’t know why I like you.”

“Bro.” Bahorel said, clutching his heart.

“If we start dating, are you going to keep calling me bro?”

“It’s an unnegotiable condition, I’m afraid.” Bahorel told him.

“Dude,” Feuilly said, “You’re sounding like a lawyer again. I can’t date a lawyer.”

“God,” Bahorel said, sounding disgusted, “Good. Who would want to date a lawyer?”

“Combeferre. Joly and Musichetta.” Feuilly said, grabbing the mug of tea made just the way he liked it. “Some of our best friends, basically.”

Bahorel grimaced. “Courfeyrac and Bossuet aren’t _lawyer lawyers_.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes. “Of course. Silly me.”

“Yes.” Bahorel agreed, “Silly Feuilly. Now eat your breakfast, I slaved over a hot stove to make you that.”

Feuilly raised his eyebrows, picked up a bowl of cereal, and poured in milk from a little jug. “My potential boyfriend is a liar. Sounding more and more lawyer-like by the minute.”

“Excuse you.” Bahorel said, affronted. “If you keep comparing me to lawyers, I’m not going to go out with you. We can’t be gross bro-boyfriends if you’re putting me down like that.”

Feuilly smiled, but it slipped away a little as he ate his cereal. “We haven’t said it outright, so this is me just checking: do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“I kind of thought it went without saying.” Bahorel said, looking down at Lola, who had curled up on his lap, in an effort to maintain his composure. “But apparently not, so. Yes.”

“Good.” Feuilly said, and settled back. “Now grab your laptop, I’m too lazy to move to the living room to watch the TV.”

“I’ve made a terrible mistake.” Bahorel said, grinning, as he reached over to grab his laptop. “Now get over here and snuggle, nerd boyfriend.”

“You’re a true romantic.” Feuilly said, rolling his eyes, but tucked himself against Bahorel’s side.

“The real purpose of these guns,” Bahorel confided, wrapping an arm around Feuilly, “Is for snuggling.”

Feuilly laughed. “Fuck germs.” He turned in Bahorel’s embrace to pull him into a kiss. “You’re ridiculous. In the best possible way.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I feel gross and I want to shower, but standing up makes me dizzy.” Feuilly complained, burying his face against Bahorel’s shoulder.

“You do realise we have a bath, right? I’m pretty sure I’ve got some bath bombs that Jehan gave me, too.”

“That sounds nice.” Feuilly said, “But only if you join me.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Bahorel said, and kissed him. “Good idea.”

 

“This was a terrible idea.”

Feuilly leaned back against Bahorel’s chest, water sloshing over the edge of the bath at the movement. “You’re cleaning that up.”

“If any of my limbs work.” Bahorel said, “It’s a little cramped in here.”

Feuilly laughed. “So much for romance.”

“This is still nice.” Bahorel said, unconvincingly.

“Dude,” Feuilly said, “This bath is too small for one person, let alone two.”

“You’re right. My romantic ideas suck.”

“Don’t say that.” Feuilly said. “And I would totally turn around and kiss you, but I don’t think I can physically manage it. I don’t have anything I have to do today, we can just go back to bed. My head doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

“Why, my dearest, are you trying to suggest something?” Bahorel gasped. “My virtue isn’t safe with you around.”

“Your dick has literally been pressing against me this whole time. I don’t think it’s _your_ virtue that’s in danger.”

 

* * *

 

 

“How are you feeling?”

Feuilly lay in the middle of Bahorel’s bed, boneless. “So good.”

“I meant in terms of being sick.” Bahorel said, grinning, “But that’s good to know, too.”

Feuilly rolled onto his side so he was facing Bahorel. “I love you.” He said, voice quiet.

Bahorel’s expression softened. “And I love you.”

“So,” Bahorel said, after a pause, “How was the bro-job?”

Feuilly rolled over and buried his face against Bahorel’s bare chest. “You fucking- God. You are the actual worst.”

“But you love me.” Bahorel said, looking down at Feuilly with a shit-eating grin.

“I do.” Feuilly admitted. “I don’t know why. But you know,” his fingers crept down Bahorel’s stomach, “I have tomorrow off as well. And I’m feeling much better already.”

“You ruined the moment, babe.”

“You just ‘bro’-ed me _in bed._ After confessing our love for each other.”

Bahorel laughed, and pulled him down for a kiss. “The best of bros.”

“So long as we don’t ever roleplay straight dudes fucking each other and asserting their heterosexuality throughout.” Feuilly allowed.

“ _Babe.”_ Bahorel said, horrified, “Do you even know me? I would _never_. Full-homo bros five-ever.”

“You’re an embarrassment.” Feuilly told him. “Never change.”


End file.
